This post is about the Italian peculiar case of ‘survival through cynicism’ (Italians & WWII.)
The next post will be about ‘survival through quality’ in times of economic globalization. A bit of a survival kit for any folk.
The following playful exchanges occurred at a London café where Richardus, the café owner, was present together with Chaerie (California,) Paul Costopoulos (Quebec, Canada) and others we’ll omit since their comments were outside the chosen theme.
The spirit world
(and the silly male)
Richardus (Britannia): “A breathless bolt, a high-pitched arrow of sound pierces the night and cleaves my skull.”
Man of Roma (Roma): “At times we don’t sleep well, do we. Very similar we are, Britannia.”
Britannia: “We are. But also we have to keep watch for wild animals and itinerant males.”
Paul Costopoulos (his blog): “The primal scream can be such a relief… it does disturb, fleetingly, our bed companion.”
Cheri (her blog): “Have you tried opening your window at night to let the night sounds into the room?
Those in the spirit world might come in, deep in the dark of sleepless night, and rest with you.”
Britannia: “I shall listen for the sounds of the Klamath River.”
Roma: “I am eager to read about your spirits’ world Cherie … We all are at a phase of our life where we need that … I envy your power of communication with Mother Nature. Here we live just the life of the city people (see image below) surrounded by the world of man rather than by the spirits’ world. [although ...]”
[Then something happened. Cheri said she would visit me in Roma. Richard pulled out a Norman helmet. The silly male in me hence made me exclaim:]
Roma: “Richardus, what’s that helmet for? I’ve got my gladius, don’t forget!”
Roma: “And I know our apple of discord c’est Chaerie.
Elle vaut la peine de se battre. Mais soyez prudent. Les Italiens ne sont pas des lâches (cowards), ils sont indifférents, which is another thing entirely.
And Chaerie, elle vaut absolument la paine de ne pas être indifférents id est, she deserves absolute non indifference.
Hey, where’s my darn gladius?
*He falls while looking for it and breaks his left leg*
Cheri: “Good jokes, Roma. I get it…Remember, I have been having lunch with a lusty Italian for years. Ahhh….I miss Joe so much.
Roma: “Joe a lusty Italian? Ah ah ah ah. Now ‘I’ get it. You so intelligent, beautiful and hyperborean. He, Sicilian and all. Not surprising. Not at all surprising. Cannot blame him though. May he rest in peace, Cherie.”
Roma: Richardus, that lento played by the Quartetto Italiano: is that supposed to mean a requiem to my hopes about Cheri because you’ll kill me in battle?
Wrong move, man. I’ll explain why.
Battle of the
The beautiful Italian Royal Navy (Regia Marina) was sunk by the British Royal navy in the Mediterranean. Ok, the famous WW2 ‘battle of the Mediterranean’ – we lacked radar, proper fleet air arm (and fuel.) OK. OK.
BUT, only a few years after that defeat two Mediterranean people, my sister and my bro-in-law, got married.
Look into their eyes, Homo Britannicus. Do they look defeated?
They do not.
What the hell. Are they morally superior?
They are not.
It’s just they don’t give a damn, Richardus. Italians don’t give a damn.
[I call Italians 'Romans' in the title: nothing more appropriate ...]
Methinks a foolish chant is taking shape …
[may readers pardon me]
Like a warm-fleshed woman
lying languidly on the Mediterranean,
Here’s Italy, motionless, statue-like.
World folks may tread on her body,
(Oh yes! she utters)
from the German barbarians,
from Hitler TBBM
(The Big Big Maniac)
to the Allied Forces.
(Oh yeah yeah! she moans)
Although, in her sluttish nature,
she will not disappear, Britannia.
She will stay. And survive.
And will continue to be beautiful,
rising eternally up from her ashes.
“Why this folk is like that“
Mario TBM (the big moron) will exclaim.
MOR: “Oh Mario, I’m so surprised,
you should know better. ”
In any case they’re like that because they are:
[by now the London customers shake their heads in disapproval and turn to their drinks]
And an old post,
That Pride Which Is Actually Blindness,
explains why we are all like Joe,
why we are all Sicilians (which is good.)
While, this other post,
why we’re all like Mario too a bit
(less good )
[*Mario the deceiver rejoicing in silence (though biting his nails)*]
Britannia: “That lento, requiem or not, is gentle fulfillment for all, dear Giovanni. Let us relish it.”
Roma: “Of course, dear Richard, of course. Gentle fulfillment. Thank you for these two words.
A la prochaine, really, amico mio …”